Page 46 of A Guardian for Christmas

A chill runs down my spine as I watch the realization hit Esme.

“I’d like nothing more than to pound that Zane Cowen into the dirt.”

“He’s posted bail,” Esme says. “But I would really love it if you would stay out of jail, no matter how pissed off you might be.”

Esme is absolutely right.

I take the device and thank my friend Buck.

We head downstairs and enjoy Esme’s first Christmas with friends. Real ones.

Epilogue

Esme

Four years later

Briar and Rowan are the first guests to arrive in time for rehearsal day.

My old friend wraps me in a big hug and Rowan shakes Sagan’s hand.

“How’s Bloomington treating you?” Sagan asks him, referring to the college town where they live in Indiana.

The boys wander off while Briar and I sneak off to the library. Once upon a time, it was here that I met with my doctor and with several practitioners over the years who didn’t help me one bit. Most of them tried their best and meant well, but I started a new chapter in my life where I’m trying to spend more time with friends. I’ve started a book club in this library with some of our Gold Hill neighbors.

A portion of the castle has been dedicated to public tours. In the guest quarters, we rent out rooms, and Cressida has enjoyed running the place as a bed and breakfast.

Frye has officially retired as house manager but has returned to work as a docent. He loves giving tours and somehow earns extra tips when he’s extra cranky with visitors.

The Wood Brothers have been hired as my official contractor, and over the past four years, they’ve fixed up the carriage house and any number of other projects around the castle and grounds.

The next day, Sagan marries me on the footbridge where my great-great-grandfather George proposed to his Elinor. It’s sweet and simple, and we only have about 50 guests. Just enough to fill the great dining hall.

The fireplace crackles with light, and I look down the table at all the people Sagan has brought into my life.

“I love you, Ms. Bryant.”

I look over at my husband and correct him. “Ms. Fisher-Bryant,” I say, the nontraditional combination of our names that I’ve chosen.

Some people find it odd, but Sagan says I could call myself Pixie Stardust and he’d roll with it.

He is the kindest, most patient person I’ve ever met. And I’m still a handful at times. But for less time, and not as severe, with the help of our friend, Dr. Allen.

Epilogue

Sagan

The following Christmas

I find Esme in her room again, perched at the window.

“Baby, have you eaten today?”

She looks up from her typewriter and smiles. “Yes.”

I lift her chin, checking for dark circles under her eyes.

My wife doesn’t need me to fuss over her as much these days, especially now that the portions of Bryant Estate reopened to the public have helped generate enough funds to hire more full-time staff. We have people overlooking repairs and maintenance; any questions the Wood family can’t answer, go to me.

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